“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. The door closed softly upon her. What was their surprise to find it vacant, and the prisoner gone! Jonathan, could scarcely believe his eyes. Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors.
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